Used to be do what you want as long as it doesn't impose or harm me and loved ones really, I don't care what you do, but as soon as it starts to spill over that line, well then...right? But what does that really mean at the end of the day do you pray for guidance at all for one and none for all, and justice is a word, just as it was in the beginning of this verse which is really a round like you row your boat 3 sight-impaired mice or my favorite of all Kookabura What was I saying? cc: Chagall 2022
Latest Entries »
"I know what's wrong with this sentence", she said. This has been a Poetic Service Announcement from Carlos Chagall. If this had been a real poem, you would have been advised to seek reference in your nearest guide to punctuation and style. Love and peace for you all.
In the warmth of my home, from behind my window, I watch the young sparrow lift off from her branch, to come fly directly at me, actually to me - for she sees me, she trusts me, I have fed her and her's I have seen many birds die hitting glass, I am helpless to shoo her away in time Instead I punch with my bare-knuckles, swing from my hips, maintain rock-solid deltoids, the pane of glass shatters shards, blood, my feathered friend scatters not exactly unscathed, but safely broken through to my side to alight on my dwarf lemon tree cc: Chagall 2022
I am the lip of a granite step, honed to fine-edge, whetted sharp, a blade upon which you tread everyday, come what may, c'est la vie In the metro no songbird sings though the echo is so strong, almost holy Bring us home, click-clack, sweet steel on rail, Tom Thumb, chug-chugga Elevated stops...shh...hear the air-brakes, squeals 'round the roundest corners, runners seek oil, high over the city... On the subway home I doze to the sports page dream of powered drives to center, torque-propelled strong hips, action, sympathetic knees, breaking wrists, the geometry of grace, the boys of summer kiss the cheeks of autumn ladies Sweet grass, new-mown. City sparrows on ginkgo trees in high branches aside the el, lilt fossil melodies, call to me through open train doors to wake me at some station after mine I smell my own sweat there on my clothes, the heat of the train an oven, bakes me proper I rise, exit to debut on this foreign platform, sad to have missed my stop, to have missed my time I search the faces around me, for the one to help point the way back, the staircase to the other way cc: Chagall 2022/2013
undocumented diaspora is so sad, losing sight of all who came before, except for what we hold, in mind, in heart cc: Chagall 2022
The past is underlined and bold, but the future is superscript-italic cc: Chagall 2022
A single principle may drive innumerable decisions, so choose each of yours wisely cc: Chagall 2022
I don't know how many suns have been born, or have died since you arrived here before me, I'd wager none at all, but if indeed infinity then perhaps suns appear and sputter-out every day Suns as stars, one the same, upon which we wish, we may and might tonight, plead to come true, to make right Flat on my back I fall, airily up I float in mid-air my ascent traces angels cc: Chagall 2022 "...we get on average about one new star per year, and one star dying each year as a planetary nebula in the Milky Way. These rates are different in different types of galaxies, but you can say that this is roughly the average over all galaxies in the Universe. We estimate at about 100 billion the number of galaxies in the observable Universe, therefore there are about 100 billion stars being born and dying each year, which corresponds to about 275 million per day, in the whole observable Universe." Cornell University 2015; Santonge, Amelie; accessed 31 January 2022; http://curious.astro.cornell.edu/about-us/83-the-universe/stars-and-star-clusters/star-formation-and-molecular-clouds/400-how-many-stars-are-born-and-die-each-day-beginner
Sometimes I will be the low note, by that I don't mean lack of highlight, musically speaking here, now I express different thoughts when bass, not so basso, just warm, full-bodied, diffused round myopic on the ears Unwavering quavers go boom, and Om, and oh my When I'm alto I'm me, exhale on the note you are most comfortably Up never-too-high, just up too late tonight, I try to find voice in the voices ...too much tension in the upper partials, thick muddy crescendos and diminuendos, cascades down upcoming rivulets, as I live and breathe inside this roil In the end, as in the beginning, there will only be static, a hum cc: Chagall 2022
Play I Naked under blanket, Brielle, bottle of bourbon, watch a beautiful snowfall flake by flake bye flake bye soft sputter atop sledders colors brighter than voices fade always above rooftops salty crisp snow-air noel, noel, noel like a bell chimes the world needn't be more than simply thus, a toast to us, Brielle says to no one Play II her neighbors light at night is a hearth upon which her heart rests her soul gazes long into its distant warmth, an impression, snow-rendered golden pointillé cc: Chagall 2022
Alphabet City 